A man and woman,

not lovers, want to be

near each other, pull

their chairs around until

they’re face to face,

intent, her hands resting

on his knees, his hands

on her wrists, as if

they shared a center

of balance, children

in a circle game, who

go so slow, cousins

playing in the August dusk,

swinging the statue.

Some enchantment

they ought to have outgrown.

The long touch and the letting go.

Intimates:

not brother, not lover.

But close, close enough.

Sharon Hoffmann is a writer based in Atlantic Beach, Florida. Publications include The Hooghly Review, New York Quarterly, Beloit Poetry Journal, Alice Walker: Critical Perspectives (Harvard University Press), Paddler Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, Letters, Wild Roof, Sho, and other magazines. Awards include fellowships from Atlantic Center for the Arts and Florida’s Division of Cultural Affairs, three Pushcart nominations and a nomination for Best Spiritual Literature.